


Alpha and Omega

by CeridwenofWales



Series: The Sea Wolves [3]
Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Depression, F/M, Family Drama, Family Dynamics, Family Issues, Family Secrets, Irish Annals, Ivar's Heathen Army, Ivars Heathen Army, Medieval, Mentions of Rape, Norse culture, Norse religion, Norse sagas - Freeform, Old Norse, Past Rape/Non-con, Postpartum Depression, Rape Recovery, References to Norse Religion & Lore, Slavery, The Annals of Ulster, Viking Age, Viking Raids, Vikings, Vikings in Ireland, post-partum depression
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-27
Updated: 2018-08-06
Packaged: 2019-01-25 01:21:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12519740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CeridwenofWales/pseuds/CeridwenofWales
Summary: This work is the sequel of The Sea Wolves. The events here take place two years after the birth of Sigtrygg.





	1. Doubts

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lauredessine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lauredessine/gifts), [ifinkufreaky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ifinkufreaky/gifts).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moyra and Ivar are adjusted to their life as Sigtrygg's parents, but still trying to find a safe place to build something for themselves. Moyra is worried about Sigtrygg's future and a case brought to Ivar during one of his counsels is the push for an important conversation about their situation.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Sigtrygg is almost sleeping in my lap during the _náttmál_ and I excuse myself to put him to bed.

 

 “Sigtrygg is tired,” I whisper to Ivar.

  

“I'll help you. He is heavier now.” Ivar smiles, looking at our boy, whose head is resting against my shoulder.

  

“I'll be a giant like you, _Fađir_.” His sleeping voice is followed by a yawn.

 

 I chuckle at his innocence. We are giants in his eyes. Little he knows that we have fears of our own and sometimes feel helpless.

  

“Come closer and give me a kiss!” Ivar mumbles to Sigtrygg.

 

I lean forward and Sigtrygg wraps his arms around his father's neck, kissing his cheek, “Now kiss _Mo_ _ð_ _ir_ , _F_ _aðir_!” Sigtrygg’s voice is as commanding as a kid can be and I try not to laugh that he is ordering Ivar.

 

I swallow, glancing at Ivar. His face is so close to mine that I can feel his hot breath against my skin. It's like I can taste the mead from his lips. I'm mortified that I feel blood rushing to my cheeks as easily as if I were still a maiden. Ivar is analyzing my features and I know he wants my permission. I press my lips together as every intake of air sets my lungs on fire.

 

_Will Ivar want more if I allow him to kiss me? Am I prepared to offer more if he requires?_

 

I realize that I want to test myself. Ivar is still looking at me, but his eyes are sad now as if he lost hope. I tilt my head in compliance and the smile that appears on his face warms my heart. I close my eyes, waiting for him to possess my mouth, gasping in surprise when his soft lips touch my temple instead. This innocent touch is an awakening from memories registered in my body, both pleasant and painful. I suppose it will be always like this. Our story is not simple.

 

He pulls away and I'm shocked to discover that I'm missing his warmth already. In his eyes, I see the uncertainty of a different man. I rise to my feet quickly and when I put Sigtrygg in his bed, he is already sound asleep. I kiss his forehead and walk to our bed, on the opposite wall.

 

I find Ivar sitting on the bed and waiting for me.

 

“We need to talk!” his voice is steady and calm, but my heart starts beating fast.

 

I sit by his side, folding my hands in my lap and looking down at my own shaking fingers. I just can't handle Ivar's stare at the moment. I want to try and gain some composure.

 

“Do you hate me?” His question seems so absurd that I look up at him immediately.

 

“I don't.” I was never so sure about something in my life.

 

He keeps proving himself a better man, one that doesn't deserve hatred or disgust. He is worth loving, but I don't dare to say it. Even though he is still looking at me, waiting for more. When he notices I'm not saying anything else, Ivar tilts his head.

 

“Good.” I can see a little smile on his lips and I'm relieved it seems enough for him. For now.

  

 

* * *

 

 

In the morning I'm working on the loan while Sigtrygg is playing with Nanna, our cat. Only recently I discovered that Norsemen give cats to their future wives as a symbol of Freya. The thought of Ivar considering me his wife is not totally reassuring. I worry about my son's position. His inheritance can only be assured depending on my status in Ivar's life.

 

_Am I a slave? A concubine? What am I to Ivar and his people? And more important - how does my situation affect Sigtrygg’s future?_

  

I don't know how to bring the subject to Ivar, and my mind remains clouded for a few days. During one of his counsels, a case brought to his attention is my final push.

  

“He never married her. When he died, I dare to say she was not even a concubine.” The woman is yelling, and I can see a vein in Ivar's neck pulsing.

 

“You're in my hall, woman. If someone is to speak loud here, it is not you.” his tone is low, but he is clearly infuriated. It seems Ivar's fury is only clear to me because the woman keeps her voice annoyingly loud.

 

“I want this woman out of my house and that she carries her bastard children with her.” Her face is a mask of hatred. Her lips are curling while she speaks, and her head is held high.

 

Sigtrygg is scared and on the verge of tears. Ivar notices our son hiding his face into the crook of my neck.

 

“It seems you're a scorned woman. Not being able to give your husband children, you resent the woman that could do this.” Ivar is tapping the arm of his chair and as his words keep flowing, he leans forward looking straight into her eyes, “It's not a surprise the Gods haven't blessed you with children. Look how you're scaring my son.” Ivar points to us.

 

On her face, I notice a disdainful grimace, while her eyes are accusing me of something I don't even know what. I tighten my arms around my son, kissing his hair. I can only imagine what kind of terror the other woman suffered by her hands.

 

I look at Ivar and I can tell he noticed the woman's disapproval of our situation.

 

“Do you have a problem with my family?” Ivar arches his eyebrows while his lips are twisted in a half smile. If I were her, I would choose my words carefully.

 

“Oh no! Your...” she stares at me from head to toe, “family is adorable.” Sigtrygg peeks at her and she smiles at him. I can say it is the smile of a predator. It’s been a long time since I considered killing, but for the first time, I want to bath in her blood.

 

“What you require of me is that I kill children and women. What kind of man do you think I am?” Ivar tilts his head, baring his teeth to speak.

 

“I don't want you to kill them. It's just that I'm sure this woman poisoned my husband against me. Maybe even practiced _sei_ _ð_ _dr_ preventing me from conceiving.” She hisses, and I felt like I’m watching a snake.

 

“You’re asking me to kill them. What do you think it will happen to them when the Winter comes, and they don’t have a roof above their heads?” Ivar reasons with her with a patience that never ceases to surprise me.

 

“She is lying, King Ivar. I would never harm anyone and when Sihtric brought me home, they were married for eight years and she has never been with child all this time. He told me.” The woman gasps, cradling a baby girl against her chest while her eldest son is holding the hand of another boy that looks a little older than Sigtrygg.

 

“LIES!” I can see the woman is losing control. Her face is flushed and her hands are forming fists.

 

“Sihtric wanted to divorce Elisif to marry me, but she begged, and I felt sorry for her. It's not a woman's fault when a couple can't have children.” She looks at her children, “if I knew she wouldn't show me the same mercy...” the woman trembles with sobs and I feel an urge to go to her.

 

Ivar looks at me and back at them. I wonder what he is thinking, and more than ever, I need to know. It would be me in that woman's situation. One day it might be my son being publicly humiliated. I would kill myself before allowing my son to endure the shame.

  

“Is anyone here able to attest to what these women are saying?” Ivar shouts to the crowd.

  

“I can.” A man stands up.

  

“Go ahead!” Ivar encourages him with a motion of his hand and the man approaches.

 

“My name is Egil. I've been friends with Sihtric since we were children. I know he wanted to divorce his wife when he noticed it was not his fault they couldn't have children.” Elisif’s eyes are burning with loathing, “He didn't divorce her out of pity. What she is trying to do to Hild is shameful. The Gods wouldn't approve.”

 

Ivar smiles, “I can make my decision now,” he looks at them, grinning, “the children and their mother are to stay under Sihtric’s roof. He protected them in life and his children have the right of half his fortune.”

 

“SHAME! I came here seeking justice, but it seems I came to the wrong place.”

  

“You're offending my honor. I advise you to stop it. If you can't live among your late husband's family, I advise you to take your share of what he left and go away.” Ivar suggests as his nostrils are flaring, and I fear he will spill blood in front of Sigtrygg.

 

“That's exactly what I'll do. I can't look at those bastards or their mother.” She glares at Hild from head to toe with her eyebrows furrowed, then walks away, bumping into everyone standing in her way.

 

 

* * *

 

 

I can't sleep. After the case brought to Ivar, I feel powerless once more. If he marries and has children with another woman, my son will be at risk. I can't bear the thought of my Sigtrygg living in poverty and need because of me. Or worse - I push away the images of my son as a slave aside.

 

Ivar's breathing is steady. I turn around to look at him, and I'm surprised he is still awake.

 

“What is wrong? Why can't you sleep?” his eyes are soft and I feel he really cares.

 

“I'm worried about Sigtrygg,” I confess, unable to look at him.

 

“Are you worried about his future?” I feel his warm hand holding my chin to look at him.

 

 I can only nod, feeling a knot in my throat.

 

 “I won't marry...” his fingers are tracing the line of my jaw and I feel I'm trembling, “another woman.” Ivar is looking at my mouth and pressing his lips together.

 

 “But... I'm your slave. What makes Sigtrygg a slave as well...” my voice is cracking with the thought of my son enduring slavery.

 

“Moyra!” I'm still getting used to my name leaving his plump lips. He pauses, searching for my eyes, “you're not my slave...” his voice is husky while Ivar is using his fingers to play with a strand of my hair.

 

“What am I?” my question surprises him, “What am I to you?” I hold his hand to remove any distraction his touch can represent.

 

He is looking right into my soul, “What do you want to be?” he licks his lower lip, what I know he does when he is nervous.

 

“I don't know. I-I...” my eyes are averting from his lips to his eyes.

 

“I need to know what you want. Do you want to be my wife?” his tone is stoical.

 

My jaw drops as I listen to him. I don't know if I'm ready to be his wife, but I would do anything to secure my child's position.

 

“Can you forgive and marry me?” he is not talking about our son, he is talking about us and the things that have been tearing us apart.

 

“I forgave you a long time ago. I just don't know if... if I can be a proper wife to you. I don't feel ready to...” my hands are shaking, and my mind is clouded with thoughts. I want to shut down my worries and see the new man in front of me.

 

“You would be a proper wife to any lucky man. I won't pressure you to love me. If you don't want me, Sigtrygg’s position won't be at risk. I just want you to know that I'll wait.” I feel the truth in his words, and the promise brings tears to my eyes, but there's the lingering sensation of danger. _How long will Ivar wait?_

 

Ivar uses his thumb to wipe away my tears, “Can I hold you?”

 

I nod and wait for him to pull me closer, he draws his body closer to mine instead. I lay my head on his chest, embracing his waist. I can feel he is inhaling the smell of my hair. His heartbeat is like a lullaby and I fall asleep easily. I'm so surprised that we can lay holding each other without Ivar trying to force me. Knowing that he doesn't want my body closer to him only for pleasure is satisfying.

 


	2. Family?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moyra and Ivar receive surprising guests that make them evaluate their life together. Sigtrygg is excited with some stories from Moyra's past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Föðurbróðir = Uncle  
> bróðursonur = Nephew  
> Móðir = Mother  
> Faðir = Father  
> Alba = Scotland  
> Eire = Ireland

 

 

It seems Ivar and I slept for ages when we are awake by excited squeals.

 

“Móðir? Faðir? Wake up! Ships are coming!” Sigtrygg jumps on the bed and I rub my eyes, lifting my head from Ivar’s chest and sitting.

 

“Come here!” With my arms around him, Sigtrygg snuggles into my chest, “Do you ever sleep, child?” I whisper thinking Ivar is still asleep.

 

“I doubt it!” Ivar’s husky voice makes my heart race and I smile, looking at him.

 

“I think we will have to see who is coming with these ships, huh?” Ivar is stretching his arms, yawning and my mouth falls open as I watch his muscles flexing. I can feel the heat of blood rushing to my face, and I look away embarrassed when Ivar stares at me with those indigo sleepy eyes.

 

Sigtrygg jumps from my lap, running to the chest I keep my dresses in. I giggle when he chooses a red dress for me, “This one, Móðir!” My son holds the dress in front of him, and all I can see is his little, chubby hands.

 

“Why this one, huh?” I tilt my head, trying to see his face.

 

“Because you look beautiful with this one.” He exclaims walking to us and laying the dress on the bed.

 

“I agree.” My eyes meet Ivar's for a brief moment before I look away, as usual, uncomfortable as to what he might have seen there. I can still feel some traces of anxiety, of anticipation, even. I just don’t know if it’s a fear that the Ivar from the beginning will emerge, or that I am still not able to open my heart to feel something different when I am close to him.

 

I walk to the table where we have a basin, washing my face and brushing my hair quickly. Then I put on the dress my son suggested for the day. Ivar starts dressing as well, while Sigtrygg watches us.

 

“So...how do I look?” I smile at Sigtrygg, but I cannot deny the weight of Ivar’s gaze on me. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see he is breathing heavily through his mouth.

 

“You’re beautiful, Móðir! But…” His narrowed eyes are shining with mischief as Sigtrygg grins at me. My little one looks at me from head to toe. I cross my arms across my chest waiting for his answer.

 

“What?” I ask him with an anxious smile.

 

“A necklace. You need a necklace.” Sigtrygg tries to disguise his laughter with both his hands covering his mouth. I roll my eyes, sighing in defeat. Before I can turn around to search for a jewel, Ivar is already holding one of his many gifts. A necklace with colorful beads.

 

“Can I help you?” Ivar’s voice is barely a whisper, but the way he is hovering over me makes me lower my gaze. I sweep my hair to the side, so he can clasp the jewel around my neck. A shiver runs down my spine as his fingers brush my nape, and I take a deep breath not to cry in front of my son.

 

Memories of the first time he took me when we arrived here wash over me. The way he placed his big hand on my shoulder, lowering his head to smell my hair while one of his hands grabbed my breast. I close my eyes, trying to think he will not do this again. Not in front of Sigtrygg. Not until I allow it.

 

I lose track of time and when I open my eyes I see how he's staring at me: deep and thoughtful. Ivar takes a step back, analyzing me. It doesn’t pass unnoticed the way he gulps, watching my lips trembling. My jaw clenches while I think I have failed. We slept peacefully in each other’s arms, only for painful memories to stand between us in the morning.

 

_Why do I have to feel this way still? I should have healed, shouldn’t I?_

 

 

* * *

 

 

Ivar is carrying Sigtrygg on his shoulders for our son wants to see above everyone’s heads. He is so curious about who is arriving, but I don’t have to think much to deduce it’s Ubbe. When I look up at Ivar, it seems he had forgotten the tension from moments before. His eyes are glowing with happiness as we will see his brother after all this time.

 

“Who is that man?” Sigtrygg reaches for Ivar’s cheeks with his little hands, trying to make his father look up at him.

 

Ivar gives a gurgle of laughter, “It’s your föðurbróðir. His name is Ubbe, and it seems he is not coming alone.” I notice a woman walking by Ubbe’s side. He has a protective arm around her shoulder, and she is carrying a baby in her arms.

 

Ivar places Sigtrygg on the ground to greet his brother and Sigtrygg moves to my side. I can feel he is anxious about the man that is strange in his inexperienced eyes. My son holds my hand tightly and I notice his palm is sweating, “Don’t be afraid! It’s your uncle and I’m sure he is eager to meet you.” I whisper, smiling at Sigtrygg.

 

I’m happy for Ubbe and even more for Ivar. I know he has missed Ubbe even if they disagreed most of the time. Their embrace lasts a few moments. Still holding on Ivar’s shoulder, Ubbe places his other hand on the woman’s shoulder, “This is my wife, Asa.” She smiles sweetly at us, while the baby sleeps peacefully in her arms, “and our daughter, Dagmar.”

 

Sigtrygg’s hand is trembling on mine while he hides behind my skirts. But he is still my curious baby, cocking his head to one side as he tries to watch Ubbe's moves.

 

Ubbe squats before us, reaching out a hand to mess with Sigtrygg’s hair, “This big man must be my bróðursonur, huh?”

 

Sigtrygg smiles shyly and Ubbe mutters approvingly, “You have your mother’s smile.”

 

Ubbe is now standing in front of me, grinning, “How is my sister?” Is Ivar treating you right?” Ubbe looks from over his shoulder to Ivar and back at me.

 

“We are doing well, Ubbe. You three must be exhausted and starving. Let’s find something to eat, then we can talk.” I propose and Ivar nods approvingly.

 

During the walk, Asa comes closer to me and I brush my fingers over Dagmar’s forehead, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Asa.” I look into her eyes, grey as a stormy sky.

 

“I’m honored to be here too. We wanted to come earlier, but we discovered I was with child, and then we had to wait until Dagmar could come with us.” The corner of her mouth lifts into a radiant smile when she looks down at her daughter.

 

Memories of when Sigtrygg was this little come immediately, and with them, images of the cold child I embraced against my warm breast as if I could make her come back to life.

 

I clench my teeth, swallowing and looking up at the sun that is coming through the clouds. I silently pray that it’s a sign I can have hope. I don’t want to cry anymore and contaminate the happiness around me with my grief. I’ve learned my grief is in truth all the love I cannot give to my daughter. All the retained love gathering as a lump in my throat and a wound that I fear will be forever part of my soul.

 

“Móðir?” Sigtrygg is watching me cautiously and I take a deep breath to smile at him.

 

“Are you hungry? I’m sure Màiri have finished preparing food for us.” Sigtrygg presses his lips against my hand and I want to cry again, but this time out of gratitude.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Sigtrygg is sitting next to me, distractedly eating his porridge while Ubbe tells us about his time in Orkney.

 

“We’ve been living in Orkney since we got married and discovered Asa was with child. I would have come earlier, but I couldn’t risk sailing with a pregnant wife.” Ubbe leans forward to kiss Asa’s forehead and I notice all the tenderness between them. Sigtrygg looks up from his bowl, his eyes going from Ubbe and Asa to Ivar and me.

 

“How was your life in Alba, Moyra? Ubbe told me you lived there.” I blink, surprised that Asa is interested to know more about me.

 

“You don’t need to talk if you don’t want to, Moyra.” Ubbe squints his eyes at her in an attempt at chastisement that Asa happily disregards.

 

“Don’t worry! Well… I don’t think my life was so interesting. I lived on a farm with my parents. We had two horses and a mare, some goats…” I’m embarrassed to talk about those ordinary details of my life. Those men had traveled to many places and I don’t think my story is entertaining. I also feel nostalgic to think about the arduous work from my past as we had to survive through the Winters.

 

“Did you have a Nanna, Móðir?” Sigtrygg is looking at me expectantly.

 

I chuckle, “No. I didn’t have a cat back then.”

 

“It should have been an arduous life. Taking care of a farm is challenging.” Asa encourages me to continue.

 

“When Aidan was alive, it was less arduous.” I notice the way Ivar’s jaw is clenching as he watches me.

 

“Who is Aidan?” Ubbe asks with his mouth full, his eyes going from Ivar to me. I suppose Ubbe's question is haunting Ivar, but he couldn't bring himself to ask.

 

“My older brother. He died of a fever before…” I breathe heavily remembering how Ivar and Ubbe came into my life. I notice the way Ivar shifts uncomfortable in his chair and Ubbe looks down at his plate.

 

Sigtrygg seems not to be paying attention, but suddenly says: “Can we visit your Faðir and Móðir?” I press my lips together, trying to think about a proper answer.

 

“I wish you could know them as well. They would love you as much as I do. My father would take you to hunt or fish. And tell you stories about how you should be cautious near the lakes or the Kelpies would come.” I’m raising my eyebrows with a puzzled whimsical air as I usually do when I’m telling Sigtrygg stories.

 

“Like Ran’s daughters, Móðir?” His jaw drops while I’m sure he is thinking about the most fantastic creatures.

 

“No! They are far more dangerous.” I laugh tickling his belly and it seems Sigtrygg’s squeals are enough to wake up Dagmar.

 

“It seems she is hungry again.” Asa rises to her feet and I lead her to a room in which she can feed her daughter, bath and rest.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“I’ll leave you two alone. If you need anything…” I say hesitantly, heading to the door when Asa interrupts me.

 

“Please, stay with me! I’ve been traveling among men for far too long. I want your company.” Dagmar is already sucking on her nipple while I eye them warily of why Asa seems so curious about me. I let out a breath, sitting on the bed.

 

“I want to know more about you, Moyra,” Asa questions cautiously. I’m not sure the extent of her knowledge about what happened between Ivar and me.

 

“Well… There’s nothing so interesting to know.” I avert my eyes from her, trying to think about an excuse to walk away.

 

“I think I’m being too invasive. I’m sorry… It’s just that I’m so happy to be here…” Asa hesitates, and I glance at her, “among family.”

 

I bite my lower lip, moved by her words. It’s still surprising to think I have a family after all the pain.

 

“I’m happy you’re here too,” I confess, pleased that Sigtrygg will have some moments with his uncle, auntie, and cousin.

 

 

* * *

 

 

In the afternoon, Ivar proposes that we go to the lake after Sigtrygg insisting that he wants to see if we have Kelpies in Eire. Our child is overwhelmed with excitement.

 

“Are you happy to have a cousin, Sigtrygg?” Ivar asks, holding our son’s hands

 

“She is beautiful. But… She can’t play with me, huh? His nose wrinkles as he looks at the bundle in Asa’s arms.

 

“I see he took after his father.” Ubbe chuckles tapping Ivar on the shoulder.

 

Sigtrygg’s shyness goes away as he runs ahead of us. Ubbe burst into laughter watching him.

 

I sit on the grass with Asa and Dagmar that is already sleeping in her mother’s arms while Ubbe, Ivar, and Sigtrygg are entertained in the water.

 

“Do you want to hold her for a while?” Asa’s voice startles me as I was distracted, watching Ivar trying to make Sigtrygg stay still not to scare the fishes away.

 

“I don’t know. Can I?” my voice is as trembling as my hands. Asa places Dagmar in my arms with a confident smile.

 

“Of course! You’re her aunt.” I’m mesmerized by the movement of her tiny mouth as Dagmar breathes slowly. It’s impressive how holding a sleeping baby can bring me peace. I smile at Asa for giving me this opportunity, then I notice Ivar and Ubbe watching Sigtrygg coming to where we are sitting. Ivar’s eyes lay on me and my heart starts beating fast because of the intensity of his gaze. I’m sure he is thinking about our daughter as much as I am.

 

“What happened, Sigtrygg?” My son is pouting, and I notice the way his forehead is wrinkling.

 

Sigtrygg leans against me, watching Dagmar sleeping. He is soon yawning, answering me, “Uncle Ubbe wants to talk to Faðir.”

 

Dagmar is squirming, hungry and Asa takes her to the breast while Sigtrygg lays his head in my lap to sleep.

 

 

* * *

 

 

We are lying in bed, facing each other and enjoying the calmness after a busy and exciting day until Ivar breaks the silence.

 

“I liked to hear you talking about your family. I didn’t know you had a brother.” Ivar mumbles, and I see the wrinkles between his eyebrows. I wonder what he is thinking.

 

“Yes. But he died of a fever a few years before we met. I have just a few memories of him. I suppose the time turn some happy moments into blurred images.” My eyes are closed while I’m trying to remember my brother’s face or his voice.

 

“It must be true.” Then I open my eyes and see how Ivar is staring at me, “I’m sorry that I destroyed your happiness.” I gasp, seeing Ivar sniffing and blinking as tears are threatening to leave his eyes.

 

I lift my hand to his face, wiping away the tears that are now streaming down his cheeks, “You haven’t destroyed everything. We have Sigtrygg. If you had not taken me, I would not have our son.”

 

“If you could change…” His eyes are closed as he holds the hand I placed on his cheek.

 

I interject him, “I wouldn’t change anything. We must look forward, Ivar. For Sigtrygg…” Ivar opens his eyes. Fear and sadness are written so plainly on his features. It pushes me to confess, “and for us.” My heart is beating fast and I feel my stomach fluttering as Ivar smiles at me shyly and with hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Kelpie](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kelpie)


	3. Chapter 3

I see the way Ivar looks at Moyra and there's no doubt in my mind he still loves her as fiercely as in the beginning. I only hope he loves her the way Moyra needs to be loved.

 

A boy is sitting on Ivar's shoulder and I smile at the scene. He must be their child. The baby that Moyra never wanted, but tried to protect bravely when Ivar was blindly jealous and thought she was carrying another man's child.

 

As I approach, Ivar puts the boy to the ground and he hides behind Moyra. The way he seeks comfort with her is the proof I need to know Moyra loves her boy and that he trusts her.

 

Discomfort is plainly written on Moyra’s face when I ask if Ivar has been treating her accordingly. She doesn't look afraid as before, but there's something out of place and I can't wait to be alone with Ivar and ask what has happened since I sailed away with Hvitserk. She dismisses my question quickly, offering me the hospitality of their hall. I'm relieved I don't see another woman around doing this. I suppose they are married by now and it hurts me that I was not present to witness the event.

 

 

* * *

 

 

During the meal, I notice Moyra seems embarrassed to remember and share her past. I'll need to talk to Asa about her curiosity. I shared Ivar and Moyra’s story with her after we found out she was with child.

 

I can still remember how overwhelmed with joy we were, and our happiness made me think about Ivar and Moyra. Asa noticed the moments in which I became quiet, only staring and caressing her swollen belly. As my sensitive and curious wife wouldn't leave me in peace, I had to tell her about Moyra’s suffering. I remember the tears in our eyes as we wondered what might have been of Moyra and the baby.

 

I ask to myself if Ivar supported Moyra as I did when Asa gave birth to our daughter and I was anxious about her safety. Watching how tender he is with Sigtrygg makes me think he has been a good father, but it seems like there's a wall between Moyra and Ivar.

 

I notice how uncomfortable Ivar is when Moyra mentions the name of a man from her homeland. In the past, Ivar wouldn't hesitate to ask what Aidan meant to Moyra. I'm wrong. Ivar wouldn't ask, he would deduce and act. Ivar would be at the mercy of his strong emotions. Now it seems fear paralyzed him. His terror that she might have loved another man. I find myself inquiring who was this man from her past, as Ivar shifts in his seat, gulping in discomfort and unable to ask for himself.

 

“My older brother. He died of a fever before…” her voice cracks when I suppose she thinks about how we came to her life. Not for the first time, I imagine the terror many people must feel when it's announced that our ships are coming to their lands. I can't face Moyra while I think about her growing up peacefully with her brother in the village we destroyed.

 

Sigtrygg raises his voice, startling us with the innocence of his desire to meet his grandparents. The conflict in Ivar's eyes is so clear. He opens his mouth, I suppose trying to think about an explanation for why Sigtrygg will never embrace Moyra's parents. I'm not used to seeing Ivar speechless, that's how I know he is a changed man. I can only imagine how disgusted he might be that we are to blame for the things Sigtrygg is not even aware he was deprived of.

 

_For how long will Sigtrygg remain ignorant of the pain that brought him to the world?_

 

“I wish you could know them as well. They would love you as much as I do. My father would take you to hunt or fish. And tell you stories about how you should be cautious near the lakes or the Kelpies would come.” It makes me smile the way Moyra swallows her suffering to distract her child from the events Sigtrygg is not yet prepared to understand.

 

At this moment Moyra reminds me of my mother and how she used to tell us stories about the Gods and the famous parents she never knew. My heart aches as I see how much a mother endures to give her children the best narrative of the cruel world we live in. I suppose it's a mother's task to try to retain some kindness and innocence.

 

Seeing Moyra laughing and playing with Sigtrygg gives me hope that sorrow has not taken control of her soul. The exchange doesn't pass unnoticed by Ivar too. His eyes shining with fascination as he watches his family. Dagmar wakes up with Sigtrygg’s squeals and both Moyra and Ivar look at my daughter. But it's not the way adults usually glance at crying babies, startled and wishing for the child to calm down.

 

Ivar gulps audibly and Moyra’s lips tremble as if she is on the verge of tears. I take a deep breath when Moyra takes Asa and Dagmar away. It's time to have the answers I need to understand what has happened since I left them.

 

My whisper startles Ivar, who was watching the women leaving, “Ivar?”

 

“Hmm?” He motions to Sigtrygg to come to his lap. The boy complies, kissing Ivar's cheek and causing Ivar to chuckle.

 

“What happened… I mean, what has happened since I sailed to Orkney?” Ivar kisses his son's hair, holding his tiny and chubby hands. His jaw clenches and his hesitation is palpable while Ivar looks from Sigtrygg to my face.

 

“Later!” He mutters under his breath and I dread what he has to tell me that demands caution.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Sigtrygg’s excitement is contagious and even with the tension of the imminent conversation with Ivar, I find myself laughing at my nephew.

 

“She is beautiful. But… She can’t play with me, huh?” His nose wrinkles as he looks at the bundle in my wife's arms.

 

“I see he took after his father.” I chuckle tapping Ivar on the shoulder. I imagine Moyra is in peace with Ivar for she smiles shyly at my remark. I imagine she doesn't mind the fact their child looks like Ivar.

 

As Ivar, Sigtrygg runs to what he wants and I hope his childish eagerness doesn't hurt him and those around him.

 

As we go to the lake to fish, Moyra and Asa sit on the grass. Dagmar is asleep and I lean down to kiss her forehead, pressing a quick peck on Asa’s lips. I find it odd that since my arrival, I haven't noticed Ivar and Moyra touching one another in any way. Maybe my brother is not fond of showing affection in public, but I doubt the heated passion that led to so much suffering has faded.

 

Sigtrygg can't contain himself as the fish come to tickle his toes. His giggle never ceases to make us burst into laughter. Ivar tries to scold Sigtrygg to remain silent not to scare the fish away, but watching my brother failing miserably is another reason for my amusement. My heart swells with pride, seeing how kind my brother is as a father.

 

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Moyra hesitantly holding Dagmar. She seems amazed, glancing down at my daughter and I wonder if Ivar is still attached to the promise not to touch Moyra.

 

_Does she wish another baby?_

 

I notice a tear running down Ivar's cheek and I can't wait any longer to know the secrets he has been keeping barely buried. The truth that is so evident in the sadness that is twisting their faces when Moyra and Ivar think no one is watching. _Especially their child._

 

“Sigtrygg?” the boy looks up at me, “Can you go to the shore and protect the women? I believe I saw a Kelpie.” The boy pouts and Ivar nods for him to follow my instruction. I wait until the boy comes closer to his mother.

 

“Now we can talk. What happened, Ivar?” my brother is still avoiding looking at me, swallowing a lump in his throat.

 

“There's so much to say… I-I don't know where to start…” his voice is trembling with emotion.

 

“Why don't you start with what happened after I left?” I suggest and Ivar squeezes the spear.

 

“I almost lost her, Ubbe.” Ivar looks at Moyra and his voice fails. I press my hand on his shoulder and my brother blinks through the tears.

 

“The childbirth?” I mutter, trying to pretend we are still fishing but I know neither Asa nor Moyra believes it.

 

Ivar nods as his eyes are still focused on the lake. I imagine it's easier to share the burden that has been making his heart heavy, “She wanted to die, brother… because of what I did to her. Moyra wanted to follow our daughter…” Ivar looks at the sky, gulping in discomfort and breathing deeply.

 

“Daughter?” I interrupt him, shocked by the revelation.

 

“Yes. She was carrying two babies, but our daughter didn't survive.” Ivar's eyes are brimming with tears.

 

“Oh, Ivar…” I don't know how to react to his confession. Now it's possible to understand how the mere sight of my daughter brings painful memories back.

 

“Sigtrygg saved her. Moyra would join our baby girl if it was not for him,” Ivar smiles through the tears, his eyes going to where our family is waiting for us. Sigtrygg sleeps in Moyra's lap, “I'm grateful she chose life and is looking after our son. But I can't help…” Ivar averts his eyes to the water again.

 

“You want more.” I guess I found out the reason for the discomfort settled between them.

 

Ivar swallows hard, nodding.

 

“Do you think she forgave you?” I see the way his jaw rolls and Ivar runs one of his hands through his hair.

 

“Sometimes… but there are times she looks at me with cool hatred in her eyes. I feel like I don't even deserve to desire her.”

 

“Do you think one day you will want another?” my mouth is immediately dry as I ask Ivar. I don't have to wait for his answer for long. He stares at me with wide eyes.

 

“Never.” I smile, tapping him on the shoulder.

 

“There's hope then. She might be confused, Ivar. I'm sorry to be the one to tell you this… I believe part of her will always resent you… resent us, for what happened. But we can only hope Sjöfn, Freyja’s handmaiden will take pity on you and work her magic to soft Moyra's heart.” Ivar glances at Moyra, taking a deep breath.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moyra and Ivar work together to help Ubbe and Asa with Dagmar and we have a glimpse of the past.

* * *

 

 

 

I wake up startled not by the storm, but by Dagmar’s incessant cry. I listen to Ubbe and Asa struggling to discover what is disturbing their daughter’s sleep.

 

“She must be hungry!” Ubbe suggests and I can imagine Asa rolling her eyes at him.

 

“I tried to offer her the breast while you were snoring,” Asa replies, almost barking.

 

“Have you checked if she is clean?” Ubbe tries again and I hear Asa puffing, “Give her to me!” Ubbe whispers as Dagmar’s cries turned into screams by now.

 

I sit on the bed, rubbing my swollen eyes. When I look at my side, Ivar is awake.

 

“They need help!” he whispers, a smirk on his lips.

 

“They sure do!” I chuckle, rising to my feet. Ivar follows me to the room we provided for them.

 

Ivar knocks on the door, muttering, “We listened and came to help.”

 

Ubbe opens the door, sweat running down from the messy hair to his forehead. He is breathing heavily through his mouth. I see Asa rocking Dagmar in her arms from over Ubbe's shoulder.

 

I pass by Ubbe and my footsteps surprise Asa, who is quick to apologize for what she seems to consider an offense, “I'm sorry for the fuss! She started to wake up in the middle of the night a few days ago.” Asa’s lips are trembling, and I believe she hasn't noticed she is rocking the baby too vigorously.

 

“Don't worry, Asa! We are family, hmm. Can I try… while you rest a little?” I see her hesitation to handle me the baby and it reminds me of myself whenever Sigtrygg was sick or crying and someone else offered to carry him. I felt like I was failing.

 

I can sense Ubbe and Ivar staring at us while Asa places Dagmar in my arms. The baby seems to notice the different movement, blinking her teary eyelids to look at me.

 

“What is wrong, Dagmar? Are you afraid of the rain and thunder?” I whisper, pacing around the room and rocking her gently. Her little body trembles against me, and Dagmar lifts her hands to rub her eyes.

 

I run my fingertip over her eyebrows and she blinks lazily, “Your cousin was afraid of storms when he was as little as you.”

 

I listen to Ivar approaching and I look over my shoulder, “It's Thor swinging his hammer, Dag.” I smile at him and Ivar shrugs, “It worked pretty well with Sigtrygg, huh?”

 

“Yes! That's true!” I chuckle, and Ivar touches the baby’s forehead. His chest moves with a deep breath and he stares at me so intensely that I feel my belly fluttering. The proximity allows me to share the heat coming from his body.

 

 _“Mo_ _ð_ _ir?_ Have you told her it's just Thor?” Ivar and I look at the door, and Sigtrygg is in Ubbe's arms, yawning.

 

“Your _Fa_ _ð_ _ir_ told her.” I look up at Ivar, feeling my eyelids heavy by what I presume it’s exhaustion. He licks his lips, looking down.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The rain hasn’t stopped pouring since the night fell. It's like the sky shares my sadness. I chose Sigtrygg and life, but it’s not easy to stand by my decision.

 

Sigtrygg sleeps undisturbed by my restless thoughts. I watch the way his chest moves with every breath he draws. Running my finger over his warm cheek should make my heart swell only with pride and love, but this small act of affection tightens my throat as I imagine my daughter's body decaying somewhere. The worst part is that I can't bring myself to ask Ivar what he did to her.

 

I'm grateful for the heavy rain that is muffling the sobs I can barely hold back. I don't want to feel like the shaking trees at the mercy of the thunder and lightning that are taking over the sky tonight.

 

The exhaustion dominates my body, eluding me to sleep until a soft voice and a distant cry wake me in the middle of the night.

 

“Don't cry, my son! It's only Thor swinging his hammer. You must sleep not to wake up your mother.” I never thought I would ever see Ivar acting so tenderly and patiently. He is pacing around the room, holding the baby in one arm while running his free hand over our son's head. Ivar is successful in his quest to soothe the baby and a smile appears on his lips.

 

Ivar holds our child for a few moments and I wonder what he might be thinking as he watches Sigtrygg sleep. He walks to the crib and that's when our eyes meet. Ivar stops in his tracks, looking insecure. He opens his mouth many times, but not a word is pronounced.

 

“Is Sigtrygg hungry?” I whisper and doubt he listened to me when he doesn't answer me right away.

 

“No. He was just scared.” Ivar leans down, gently laying our son in the crib and turning to climb into the bed.

 

I feel a knot in my stomach and my heart is beating fast as he walks cautiously in my direction.

 

_He won't hurt me!_

 

“Let's sleep!” Ivar mutters as if he knows my thoughts.

 

I nod and close my eyes, hearing the bed creak under his weight. Ivar let out a sigh and I guess he drifted to sleep when the only thing I can listen to is the rain gently pouring as a lullaby. Still, I'm unable to sleep. I open my eyes, being surprised to find Ivar looking at me.

 

His mouth twitches and Ivar blinks, “Can't you sleep either?”

 

I take a deep breath, shaking my head because my mouth is instantly dry.

 

_What does trouble him?_

 

“Are you thinking about her?” His tone demands a reply but it is not unkind. He seems puzzled when I nod distractedly, averting my eyes. Only our heavy breathing breaks the silence that follows. Although I’m not looking at Ivar, I can feel he is studying my face intently.

 

“I buried her,” his voice is cracking and when I look at his face, I see his eyes brimming with unshed tears, “if you want to see the place... maybe pray. The priest said we could pray for her.”

 

“Priest?” I gasp in shock and Ivar bobs his head slowly.

 

“Yes. I asked Màiri to find someone to perform some rite during the burial and… and I thought that it should be a Christian ceremony.” Ivar looks at me as if seeking my approval. I’m terrified to think about why he may need or want me to assure him.

_What does he want from me?_

“That's good! Did she find someone?” My heartbeat is calming down with the hope my daughter's soul is at peace. She is innocent.

 

“She found a priest, but he didn't want to baptize her. He said something about not having permission to give the sacrament to a stillborn baby.” Ivar presses his lips into a thin line, rolling to his back. His eyes are fixed on the ceiling and it's impossible to ignore the way his chest moves as he takes deep breaths. I imagine he is trying to calm himself.

 

“I'm sorry! I failed you… I failed her.” Ivar runs his hands through his hair.

 

“She is at peace now! You tried… that’s more than enough. Will you show me where she is buried?” I wipe away the tears that are running down my cheeks and Ivar rolls to his side, facing me.

 

“I promise I'll take you there when you feel better to walk.” He presses his hand to his heart as if he is making a sacred oath. For the first time, my lips curl into a coy smile directed at him.

 

“Thank you!” I swallow the lump that is forming in my throat to pronounce the words. I never thought I would find myself appreciating any of Ivar's actions, but it's not the time to hold onto my pride. I can sleep with the certainty that, differently from my parents, my daughter is resting after a proper burial.

 

 

* * *

 

 

I thought Ivar had forgotten his promise to show me our daughter’s grave when one night he surprises me. I'm nursing Sigtrygg and his voice interrupts the peaceful silence.

 

“W-would you like to go there tomorrow morning?” Ivar stutters and he doesn't have to be specific for me to know he is talking about visiting my baby girl.

 

I look up at him, hands suddenly shaking and sweating. _Am I ready?_

 

I nod slowly, seeing Ivar running his hands over his thighs as he sits on the bed, watching me with Sigtrygg.

 

The anxiety and fear of what will happen the following morning are making it difficult to sleep. Whenever I close my eyes, the same dream haunts me.

 

I'm running through the dark and foggy forest and the baby’s primal screams are urging me on even with my legs aching, and my lungs burning as if there are coals in them. The soles of my feet are almost bleeding, but still, I keep on running.

 

I kneel when I finally reach the source of the crying. I unwrap the baby from the white linens, bringing her to my chest as hot tears are flowing freely from my eyes.

 

I feel my arms lighter and when I glance down, the baby has vanished into thin air and there's blood in my hands and arms.

 

 

* * *

 

 

I notice the way her body shudders during her sleep and I'm sure she is nervous about going to our baby's burial place.

 

_Should I find an excuse not to take her there? What will be the consequences?_

 

I dig my fingernails into my palms to avoid reaching for Moyra. I want to hold her in my arms and whisper that we will endure the pain and the grief together, but _how can I do this when I am the cause of her sorrow?_

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

In the morning, Moyra wakes up with dark circles under her eyes, but whispering a song to Sigtrygg while she is nursing and playing with him.

 

During breakfast, I gather the courage to talk to Moyra. My mouth is dry, and I open my lips many times until the words come out.

 

“I noticed you had a troubled sleep… do you really want to go this morning? Maybe we could visit her other day…” Moyra looks up at me, for a moment she says nothing, swallowing as if there is something in her throat.

 

“Do you regret offering to show me the place?” she pouts, a slight tremor in her voice.

 

“No! It's your right, as a mother, to see it… I'm just worried about you, but it's your choice.” She blinks a few times, looking down at her hands on her lap.

 

“I want to go!” she mutters under her breath and if we were not sitting so close, I wouldn't be able to understand her words. I feel my throat tightening that she is still so afraid of me. It's a fitting punishment for I've done anything to win her trust.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

I'm standing at the door, watching Màiri with Sigtrygg. He laughs at her as she tickles his chubby toes.

 

She has been a dear friend since my arrival and I would even dare to say Màiri is like a mother to me.

 

“Do you want to say something, my child?” Màiri says, looking over her shoulder.

 

“I thought you hadn't noticed me.” I sit next to her, running a finger over my son's cheek.

 

“I see you now!” Màiri touches my shoulder and I nip my lower lip not to weep, “There's nothing wrong or shameful in crying. You endured so much.” Màiri opens her arms as an invitation that I gladly accept. I bury my face in the crook of her neck. She runs her hand over my back, caressing my hair with the other.

 

“Go and pray for your girl! Talk to her, but don't forget you have someone who depends on you right here.” I nod in silent acquiescence, rising to my feet.

 

“Can you look after him for a few hours, Màiri?” I wipe away the tears with the back of my hand. Màiri smiles her approval and I walk to the door, where Ivar is standing and waiting for me.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The silence during the walk to her grave is only broken by the sounds of birds and our breathing. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Ivar watching me attentively.

 

There's a cross-carved stone marking the place. It's secluded, surrounded by trees and I appreciate the intimate and secretive atmosphere for I don't want to be watched as I talk to her. I want only the trees to witness my sorrow and to look after her when I turn my back. I wonder what were his thoughts as Ivar decided for this place.

 

I run my fingers over the intricately carved patterns. The hair on the back of my neck is standing up with Ivar's proximity. I'd rather be alone now, but _how can I ask him to leave?_

 

“Did you like the cross?” His voice is soft, cautious even. I murmur my approval, not daring to face him. I hold on the pillar to kneel and Ivar touches my back to support me. I know it is a protective gesture, but I flinch nonetheless.

 

“I'll be waiting for you there!” I let out a breath I didn't know I have been holding since Ivar touched me. His lips curl down in what I can say it's disappointment.

 

I found the words trapped in my mouth once I'm sure he is not close enough to listen.

 

“I'm so sad almost all the time. And guilt eats me from the inside in the rare moments I find myself smiling at your brother. Would I feel the same way if you were here? Do you hate me?” I whimper, looking at the sky. The tears flow easily, spreading a warmth on my cheeks that it's exactly the opposite of the shivers running down my spine.

 

“Instead of the birds and the wind, you are listening to the angels’ lullabies. I hope your eyes are seeing everlasting beauty instead of the suffering. I shouldn't want you to be here with me to live in pain.” I lean my head against the stone, closing my eyes as the sobs have me trembling. I lost track of the time, and when I open my swollen eyes, the sun is high in the sky. My breasts are heavy, milk leaking from my nipples and I'm sure Sigtrygg needs me. But I'm frightened that I won't be able to be the mother he needs me to be.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Father, I come to you with a broken heart. I wish your ears are open to my prayers. I am hurt and restless and feel overwhelmed. Please rescue me out of this pit of hopelessness and fear. You know the tears that I cry and my sleepless nights. I'm sorry that most of the time I'm not grateful for the gift of life, but I thank you that you are not finished with me yet.” A strangled whimper leaves her mouth and Moyra stops her prayer to take deep breaths.

 

“I will choose not to be held down by a spirit of discouragement and grief. By your grace, I will try to stand firm and trust you. Help me to remember that others are going through the same pain as me, help me to get strong, so that with the same love that you comfort me with, I will be able to be the mother Sigtrygg needs me to be.” Moyra glances at her son, who is asleep in the bed after being fed.

 

“In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.” Using her right hand, she makes the Sign of the Cross.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Moyra kneels at the foot of the bed when she thinks I'm not seeing. But I listen to her whispering what I suppose it's a prayer to her God. I don't know what Moyra is saying because she prays in her language. At this moment I realize I have to do more if I want to enter her world. And maybe, with the help of the Gods, rescue her from her grief.


	5. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ivar and Moyra must rely on each other even more as danger is close.

 

The weeks have been busy since Ubbe and Asa’s arrival. Every hand is necessary and being unable to visit my daughter's grave makes me easily irritated.

 

“Mođir? Mođir?” Nanna doesn't want to play with me.” Sigtrygg complains about our cat avoiding him for the third time since Ivar and Ubbe left to train. I roll my eyes and Màiri laughs.

 

“Nanna must be tired.” I try to reason with him as I prepare the food. Nanna is panting and purring rhythmically as she tries to run from my child.

 

“But she just woke up. Why is she so lazy, Mođir?” Sigtrygg keeps chasing Nanna and the cat bumps into my legs, making me lose my balance and drop the bowl with the meat.

 

“ENOUGH! Leave Nanna alone!” I lose my temper, yelling at him. His lips tremble and Sigtrygg runs to his bed. I feel my hands shaking and think about following him to apologize, but I fear I'll make things worse. Feeling Màiri and Asa staring at me is not helping either.

 

“I'll clean the mess!” Màiri kneels at my feet as I'm unable to move. I've never yelled at my son and my heart is aching as the image of his eyes brimming with unshed tears comes back to my mind.

 

“Come here!” Màiri finishes cleaning and I'm still paralyzed. Tears are streaming down my cheeks as she pulls me closer, wrapping her arms around me. I sniff, burying my face in the crook of her neck.

 

“Take deep breaths, calm yourself and talk to him.” She whispers, and I can only nod, feeling my throat tightening.

 

I search for Sigtrygg in his bed first as it's where he usually goes when Ivar or I scold him. I look for him even inside the chests of clothes and there’s no sign of my child. My heart starts beating fast, cold sweat running down my back.

 

I run back to where Asa and Màiri are finishing cooking, “I can't find Sigtrygg!” I whimper and watch as Màiri’s jaw drops.

 

“He must be hiding.” Asa tries to reassure me, but I notice her eyes widening.

 

“I fear he ran away. It's the first time I yell at him.” I lament, feeling guilt weighing on my shoulders, “I must find Ivar. He will know what to do.”

 

Asa nods and I run to the train yard. My legs are feeling heavy. It's like I imagine being chained.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Ivar and Ubbe are laughing as the clattering of their swords clashing echoes through the yard, “I imagine it's been a long time since you last spared against someone who is not afraid to beat you, Brother!” Ubbe shouts, winking at Ivar.

 

“Don't be so sure of yourself! I can still win you, Ubbe.” Ivar smirks, his skin glistening with sweat.

 

“Ivar,” Moyra calls, her voice quivering.

 

Ivar drops his sword to the ground with a loud clatter, running to her.

 

“What is wrong?” Ivar notices her swollen and bloodshot eyes and his heart skips a beat. Somehow, he knows it must be something involving Sigtrygg for he can't find their son with her, “Where's Sigtrygg?”

 

Moyra stares at her feet, gulping audibly, “I-I don't know!”

 

Ivar shifts closer, bringing her to his chest. Moyra breathes in his scent, closing her eyes as the tears flow. She is surprised to find some comfort in his warmth and smell. The strength of his chest and arms was not a cage at this moment, “We will find him! He must be around.” Ivar murmurs against her hair.

 

“I yelled at him.” Moyra lifts her face to glance at him. Ivar can feel her heart beating frantically against his torso and he desires nothing more than to protect her.

 

“We will find him. I promise you.” Ivar leans down, kissing her temple.

 

 

* * *

 

 

They are walking through the foggy forest, calling for Sigtrygg. A gentle rain is pouring and Moyra clutches the heavy woolen cloak around herself, fighting the cold she knows it's not caused by the unpredictable weather.

 

Moyra glances up at the cloud-covered sky. For a moment she thinks it would be a fitting punishment if God takes her son as she is still so bound to death. Moyra silently begs for God's mercy.

 

_Keep my baby safe! He is innocent!_

 

She sees the way Ivar's eyes are focused on the search, but he glances at her from time to time. She knows he doesn't blame her for their son's disappearance, but it doesn't prevent her from feeling that if she had been more patient, Sigtrygg wouldn't be in danger. Her child wouldn't be wandering through the forest, exposed to all kind of predators if she was not so trapped in her grief for her daughter. The thought of a shivering and terrified Sigtrygg haunts her.

 

Ubbe and his crew are helping in the search as well as Ivar's warriors. Màiri and Asa stayed behind with Dagmar in case Sigtrygg came back.

 

Moyra becomes less optimistic the more they enter the forest. She feels a knot forming in her stomach and is sure she won't be able to forgive herself if something happens to Sigtrygg.

 

 

* * *

 

 

I wonder what caused Moyra to lose control with Sigtrygg. Not even in her worst days, she yelled at him. I'm terrified for both our son and Moyra. I know if Sigtrygg gets hurt, she will blame herself.

 

I only felt this desperate with our daughter's death and the constant threat that Moyra would succumb to grief the months that followed our tragedy. I know the danger will always be there because I caused her so much pain, but Sigtrygg has been her reason to fight against her sorrow daily. That's why I know if something happens to him, I won't be enough. Sigtrygg is her only reason to live.

 

Listening to her bellowing our son's name sends shivers down my spine. It's like I'm seeing again Moyra screaming and lifting her arms to hold our dead daughter.

 

Ubbe is walking by my side and noticing how my jaw is trembling, he places his hand over my shoulder, “We will find him, Brother! He can't have gone far.” I can only nod, stopping to look over my shoulder to Moyra. She blinks her teary eyes, walking to me.

 

She doesn't say anything, only stands before me. Her body shudders with the sobs and despite my fear Moyra will push me away, I wrap my arms around her. She clings to me, crying and I press my lips against her hair, closing my eyes. I don't know which one of us needs more this touch, but feeling her heart beating against mine gives me hope.

 

“Mođir? Fađir?” I lift my head in synchrony with Moyra, still not believing it's Sigtrygg’s little voice whispering to us. We are rewarded with the vision of our son.

 

Moyra runs to Sigtrygg, pulling up her skirts not to fall. She kneels in front of him, wrapping her arms and engulfing our child. She mumbles against his hair and I walk to them, removing my cloak to protect my family from the rain that is getting heavier.

 

“I found something…” Sigtrygg mumbles against Moyra's neck, “Nanna is a Mođir now.” Sigtrygg looks up at us, a bright smile on his face.

 

“I don't understand.” Moyra tilts her head and Sigtrygg laughs, opening his cloak to reveal he is holding a small kitten. We both gasp in shock. Nanna was pregnant. That explains why she has been avoiding us the past weeks.

 

“Where is she?” Moyra looks around and Sigtrygg points to a tree.

 

“There!” Moyra takes Sigtrygg in her arms as we walk to where Nanna is laying with her kittens. She is liking them incessantly and purrs when Moyra returns the kitten Sigtrygg was holding.

 

Watching Moyra smiling down at Nanna reminds me of when I gifted her with the cat. I imagine how many times Nanna must have listened to Moyra crying back then. Moyra must have shared many of her sorrows with her. More than I will ever know, or she will ever share with me.

 

She looks up at me, smiling cheekily “We must take her home!”

 

It’s strange how a word can change how we feel. Words are able to hurt and to heal. Sometimes words are even more powerful when they are not pronounced, allowing us to remain blind as other signs are not enough to wake us from ignorance. Listening to Moyra referring to the hall as home makes my chest swell with confidence. We might have a challenging path ahead of us, but we are family. She might never overcome the wounds I inflicted on her, but it will be enough for me if she allows me to, at least, hold her hand as we walk throughout life.


	6. Adrift (Part One)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ivar and Moyra are still trying to help Ubbe and Asa with Dagmar and they share sweet moments of intimacy after the terror of Sigtrygg's disappearance, but nothing is simple and an external threat to their progress reappears. 
> 
> Warning: Mentions of domestic violence against women and children.

[ ](http://pt-br.tinypic.com?ref=34yp743)

 

* * *

 

 

 

Moyra insists on carrying Sigtrygg in her arms as we walk back. I suppose she needs to feel the warmth of his body as a reassurance our son is really with us. The urge to place my arm across her shoulders is almost unbearable but I don't know how she will react now that our terror turned into relief. Fear of rejection paralyzes me, and I find myself clinging to the lingering sensation of Moyra in my arms and allowing me to kiss her temple.  

 

Ubbe's laughter reaches my ears, distracting me from my thoughts. I glare at him and he sees it as an invitation to talk. 

 

“I think _Sjöfn_ took pity on you at last, huh?” Ubbe smirks, tapping my shoulder. He leans closer, whispering in my ear, “Be patient, brother!” 

 

Ubbe doesn't know the self-control I've been exercising. He can’t imagine how does it feel to sleep in the same bed with the woman I love, breathing in her scent and unable to touch her. He will never see in Asa's eyes the same fear I saw many times so plainly written over Moyra’s face whenever I climbed into the bed with her.       

 

 

* * *

 

 

Holding my son against my chest feels like I've been given a second chance for happiness and I'm determined not to waste it. I've been so focused on what I miss, on what has been taken from me that I've been blind to what I have. My child is healthy, smart and loving and even though I'll never forget the daughter that should be with us, I must try to live in a way that would honor my family and show God I'm grateful for the gift of life. It's easier said than done, but I've seen worse. I've seen a version of Ivar I want to erase from my memory, terrified that my memories might have the power to bring him back.

 

Breathing in the scent that comes from his cloak makes it hard to believe I'm living with the same man that brought me so much pain. I'm always stricken by how patient and understanding Ivar has been. At first, I thought it was only pretense and that he would eventually force me again or even send me away when my cry and sleepless nights infuriated him. He has been showing kindness and respect instead. I've been learning that he doesn't want only my body, that my feelings are important, even when I don't want to feel anything at all. Now that pain and hate don't share space in my heart, there's enough room for love and tenderness, and I know I need them to deal with the sorrow.

 

He doesn't try to silence my anger because it hurts him. Ivar accepts my blows, hoping they will help me to find myself and heal.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Albeit Sigtrygg seemed unaware of the effect his escape caused, the emotions around him made the boy doze off while Moyra was still bathing him. She smiled at the sight of her son safe in her arms and laid him in their bed after drying and dressing him. She couldn't bear sleeping away from him that night.  

 

In her mind, Moyra knew Sigtrygg was safe now, but she couldn't help the lingering sense things could have been different if someone else had found the child. Ivar had many enemies that would not hesitate to use his son against him.  

 

Moyra stared at the raising and falling of his chest. _God protected you, my son. He has always been protecting us._ A thousand thoughts plagued her mind, making Moyra feel as if a fist was squeezing her throat, turning breathing an almost impossible task. She gulped audibly and brought her hand to Sigtrygg's heart.  

 

She remembered her failed escape and despite feeling like it happened in another lifetime, there were similarities. Her actions put Sigtrygg in danger as when Moyra didn't know she was carrying him in her womb and almost placed herself at Máel's mercy. Tears blurred her sight while Moyra pondered that she could have delivered her unborn child and herself as the hostages of Ivar's worst enemy back then. 

 

 _How stupid I was. I'm sorry, my love._  

 

Their destinies were woven together against her choice, but Moyra had ceased rebelling against it at some point between the discovery of her pregnancy and the present moment. She didn't know if it was a slow and gradual change or a sudden realization. Moyra doubted it mattered how she came to accept, through Sigtrygg, she would share Ivar's failures and triumphs as long as they lived, and Ivar wanted her.  

 

Moyra had prayed for acceptance of the things she couldn't change, and it looked like it finally came and, surprisingly, not followed by guilt or shame but love and relief.

 

Moyra leaned down to kiss his forehead and walked to the stool at her vanity to brush her hair.       

 

 

* * *

 

 

Ivar watched Moyra combing through the wet strands of her dark hair. He noticed the way her hands were trembling, and she winced and sighed from time to time whenever the comb tangled in her hair.  

 

He could say Moyra was nervous but still watching her gave Ivar an oddly restful feeling. He was amazed that she could make even the most ordinary things look so fascinating. Ivar lost track of how long he kept watching her, but something inside of him was stirring and demanding him to act. His gaze restlessly raked all over her curves, only covered by a thin white shift as the fire of the hearth provided enough warmth. 

 

“Your hair is wavy now,” Ivar commented to announce his presence.   

 

Moyra looked over her shoulder, smiling shyly at him, “My hair changed with the pregnancy.” She added, turning her head to finish the task. Moyra closed her eyes for an instant, thinking her hair was not the only thing that changed since she discovered life was growing inside of her.  

 

Ivar strode toward her and inhaled deeply to gather the courage to proceed, “Can I help you?” Raising his hand, he hesitantly reached out to hold the comb. 

 

Moyra gulped, turning to look at Ivar as if to analyze what he truly meant by the offer. Ivar tried to moisten his lips despite the dryness of his mouth. He wondered why it was so difficult to keep his hands steady under Moyra's scrutiny. They stared at each other, lips slightly parted at the unfathomable mixture of shared emotions.  

 

Moyra seemed to relax and handed him the comb, at last. Ivar sighed in relief and ran his fingertip over the intricate carvings. He could remember the day he gave her that ivory comb and how Moyra glared at him in her silent defiance. Not a kiss or smile to show her appreciation as Ivar expected at the time. 

 

Against rationality, Ivar expected to see the same hatred in her eyes, so he kept glancing at the comb until Moyra cleared her throat.  

 

Blood rushed to his face as Moyra stared at him. Having the chance to look at her face bathed by the candlelight was tempting and thrilling. With his empty hand, Ivar gathered the long tresses that hung around her shoulders and he began slowly working on a tangled knot. He was oblivious to how imposing he looked, hovering over her. The flames of the hearth were projecting a flickering shadow of his body on the wall, threatening to swallow her. 

 

“It might be easier if you sit down… it's…” Moyra stuttered, clinging to the fabric of her underdress to disguise her trembling hands. 

 

“You're right! There's so much hair.” Ivar chuckled, tucking a strand behind her ear. Moyra gasped, lowering her gaze and Ivar recoiled his hand.  

 

“Can you keep a secret?” she looked up at him and Ivar nodded, tense as if she was about to reveal something of critical relevance, “I don't brush my hair every day. It will take you some time to tame this chaos.” Moyra grinned and Ivar laughed, throwing his head back. He supposed with a healthy son running around it was not easy to find time to even brush her hair.  

 

“Shh!” Moyra placed her finger over her mouth, gazing at their bed, where Sigtrygg remained undisturbed. 

 

“Sorry!” Ivar whispered and Moyra smiled at him. The vision of a genuine smile directed at him was overwhelming and he stared at her in silence. 

 

“Ivar?” she muttered, tilting her head and bringing Ivar back from his thoughts. 

 

“Huh?” He blinked in confusion and Moyra smirked. 

 

“My hair.” Moyra giggled.

 

“Oh, yes! Your hair!” He chuckled, sitting behind Moyra on another stool.  

 

Ivar held small sections of hair at a time, feeling every knot with his fingers and untangling her hair from the ends to the roots. He wished the fragrance would remain on his fingers, so he could freely enjoy her scent without startling Moyra. He could simply lean down and inhale in the scent that was only hers, but Ivar couldn't risk ruining the safe space they conquered. He gritted his teeth and tried to find consolation in the fact he could feel the smoothness of her hair at that moment.  

 

There was nothing left to brush out, but the closeness of the situation made him hesitant to stop. Ivar sat back the comb and started running his fingers through the strands of her thick hair, “Do you want me to braid your hair?” He wanted to prolong the moment, even though it was like a torture not being able to touch her more intimately. 

 

Moyra could only nod, feeling an ache plundering in the depths of her belly. She was torn between curiosity and fear. But the need to see his face and try to read his emotions won over and Moyra turned her head to look at Ivar from over shoulder.  

 

He let out a shaky breath through his parted lips at the sight of her flushed cheeks and fluttering eyelashes. The sleeve of her nightdress slipped down, revealing one of her shoulders and Moyra trembled as the cold air washed over her skin. Sitting between his legs was already so intimate and she dreaded the possibility of Ivar seeing her exposed skin as an invitation. Ivar raised his hand and softly pulled up her sleeve, his fingers were calloused brushing over the smoothness of her skin.  

 

Moyra remained motionless despite her erratic heartbeat. She couldn't say the gentle gesture was a surprise, but, once more, Ivar had found a way to impress her and show he was not a brute. At least not entirely, for although he didn’t try to undress her, she could see the unmistakable hunger in his eyes. 

 

Moyra tied the laces in front of her nightdress tighter and turned her back once more, so Ivar could braid her hair at last. 

 

Ivar ran his fingers through the strands in long strokes as he separated the hair and began plaiting it. Moyra wondered if her eyelids started feeling heavy because of his touch and closeness, or because her energy was drained after a day filled with conflicted and heavy emotions. 

 

“I've never thought you knew how to braid a woman's hair,” Moyra whispered, trying to distract herself from the way her body was reacting to Ivar. 

 

“If a man knows how to tie knots for sailing, he can braid his…” Ivar drew a deep, shuddering breath, his hands stopping for an instant, “a woman's hair.” 

 

 _Wasn’t that what you wanted?_ he pondered, furious at himself while feeling his cock stiffening. Her sweet aroma spreading as he ran his fingers through her hair until it totally enveloped him. The effect reminded Ivar of how he had been imagining Moyra would rule his senses if she was ever to inexplicably want him. 

 

He knew none of it was true, yet the intimacy the moment conveyed was so deceiving that Ivar couldn’t prevent his body from getting primed for more. He could sense himself becoming restless in the same way he always did when he was about to take her. He couldn't allow himself to get carried away by the fantasy and ruin their little progress. 

 

Ivar finished the braid and placed it carefully over her shoulder. Moyra could feel his hot breath on the nape of her neck and shifted uncomfortably on her stool, pressing her thighs together. She tried not to show how affected she was, but when Ivar rose to his feet without a word, Moyra felt she had failed. 

 

 _What did I do?_ Moyra thought, feeling a tightening knot of guilt in her stomach. 

 

Moyra turned to see what Ivar’s next move would be. She gulped, seeing he was sitting on the edge of the bed, pulling up both the tunic and his undershirt over his head in one swift movement. His skin was shining in the warm glow of the candles and the fire of the hearth. She stared at his muscles clenching with every intake of air and her mouth felt suddenly dry. 

 

If he had noticed her gaze, Ivar gave no indication. He leaned down, shedding his boots when her shy voice interrupted him, “Thank you.” Moyra muttered, her eyes burning with unshed tears. 

 

He didn't say a word or looked at her and, for a moment, Moyra thought he hadn't listened until he nodded in acknowledgment. Moyra didn't know why Ivar kept his eyes on his feet and was too afraid to think about the answer, so she walked to her side of the bed and curled herself around Sigtrygg.  

 

The boy occupied Ivar's place, legs and arms sprawled in all directions. Once Ivar was only wearing his breeches, he glanced at Moyra and Sigtrygg and felt he would disturb their peaceful connection. His only option was to claim the limited space behind her, but Ivar wouldn’t be able to lay on his back and he feared that holding Moyra from behind would certainly frighten her. 

 

Noticing his hesitation, she swallowed her fear, because she sensed that the moment was demanding something more than doubt of her. Moyra stared at him from over her shoulder, lifting the furs as a silent invitation.  

 

“There’s little space!” Ivar stuttered, his stomach clenching as he felt like an invader in his own bed. 

 

“We can manage!” Moyra reassured him, a wary smile on her lips. 

 

Ivar shifted closer and held the furs, their fingers brushing in the process. Her dark eyes were wide and glittering in the firelight, locked onto his, as Ivar slid into the furs. Sigtrygg stirred and grunted in his sleep and Moyra turned to look at the child, leaving Ivar uncomfortable about what to do with his hands. 

 

He grunted and sighed, trying to find a comfortable position to sleep in. Exhaustion dominated him, and Ivar drifted off to sleep. At some point, he wrapped his arm around her waist, snoring softly against her ear. Moyra briefly stiffened, startled by the sudden movement, but soon allowed herself to relax and lean back into the strong chest behind her.

 

Her mind was drifting to slumber when Ivar moved once more. 

 

“I’m sorry,” he stammered, lifting his arm from around her waist, “I didn’t mean to scare you.”  

 

“I’m not scared!” Moyra held his hand, interweaving their fingers and allowing Ivar to hold her against his chest.      

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Moyra notices the dark circles around Asa’s eyes as she sits at the table with a heavy sigh. She wants to tell her it will get better in the future, but she remains silent, afraid to surpass some invisible boundary and offend the guest. 

 

Asa rubs her eye, yawning, “I can’t wait for Dagmar to speak.”

 

Moyra turns in her chair to stare at Ivar and can’t help but smirk. He laughs, shaking his head and closing his eyes. Moyra bites her lips, hardly containing her smile at the sight of the corner of his eyes wrinkling with genuine happiness.

 

“What?” Asa frowns, not sharing their amusement.

 

“I don’t want a brother or a sister anymore!” Sigtrygg walks in.

 

“See?” Ivar raises his eyebrows, pointing at his son.

 

“Why?” Moyra pulls him to her lap, kissing his forehead.

 

He wraps his arms around Moyra’s neck, whispering in her ear and peering at Asa, “Babies cry!”

 

“You cried too when you were as little as Dagmar,” Moyra whispers, smiling down at Sigtrygg.

 

Sigtrygg rolls his eyes, taking a piece of bread from his mother’s plate.

 

“I’m sorry Dagmar has been disturbing you,” Asa says, blushing.

 

“There’s nothing to apologize for.” Moyra reaches across the table, squeezing Asa’s hand, “When Sigtrygg was unable to sleep, I used an ointment to massage him. It helped him to release the tension.” Ivar glances at Moyra, fascinated by the certainty in her voice and the memories of when she used to sing to Sigtrygg and run her hands over their son’s back and belly until he was asleep.

 

“I think Dagmar is too young to drink an infusion for the cramps, but a massage would be useful,” Màiri suggests, approaching to fill the cups. Asa nods eagerly.

 

“Anything for a restful night’s sleep.” Asa sighs, listening to Ubbe approaching with Dagmar in his arms.

 

“Did you have time to eat?” Ubbe yawns, rocking Dagmar in his arms. The baby is wailing again and Asa groans, lifting her hands to her temples.

 

“I can’t believe she is awake again.” Asa grunts and Ivar walks to Ubbe, taking Dagmar in his arms.

 

“Eat while I talk to my niece.” Ivar walks through the hall with the baby while Moyra watches them, unaware of Ubbe’s smirk. She doesn’t know what he is murmuring to Dagmar, but it works as the baby is now giggling. He lifts his eyes, meeting Moyra’s gaze with a silent plea. Moyra feels the blood rushing to her cheeks as if she has been caught watching something forbidden.

 

  

* * *

 

 

After eating, Moyra, Màiri, and Asa visit Ingrid in search of the ointment to help Dagmar to sleep. Sigtrygg is tired of walking and is soon clinging to Moyra’s skirts until she picks him up. He rests his head in the crook of her neck, closing his eyelids briefly. They reach Ingrid’s house and before Moyra can even knock, Ingrid opens the door.

 

“I thought you had forgotten about me, Sigtrygg.” Ingrid provokes, grinning at Màiri.

 

“Never.” Sigtrygg turns, kissing Ingrid’s cheek and wrapping his arms around her neck. Moyra shakes her head at the sight of Màiri rolling her eyes.

 

“Do you have bread?” Sigtrygg asks against her neck, making Ingrid chuckle.

 

“When did I disappoint you? Of course, I have the best bread for you.” Ingrid kisses his forehead, stepping back for everyone to cross the threshold.

 

“I doubt it’s the best,” Màiri mutters under her breath and Moyra glares at her. Màiri puffs, crossing her arms under her chest.

 

“With fruits?” Sigtrygg squeals and everyone laughs at his excitement.

 

“It wouldn’t be the best without them, huh?” Ingrid enters the house still carrying Sigtrygg in her arms.

 

“This is Asa, and her daughter, Dagmar,” Moyra says, introducing Ubbe’s family. Ingrid smiles at the sleeping baby.

 

“You have a beautiful baby.” Ingrid congratulates Asa.

 

“She is Ubbe’s wife,” Moyra adds and Ingrid doesn’t seem surprised.

 

“We are having trouble to make Dagmar sleep,” Asa whispers terrified her daughter will wake up.

 

“I see. If she is having cramps, some boiled herbs would help…” Ingrid is interrupted by Màiri.

 

“She is too young to drink anything but her mother’s milk.” Màiri hisses through clenched teeth.

 

“It seems you don’t need my help,” Ingrid says, frowning at Màiri.

 

“Màiri, please.” Moyra pleads and Màiri averts her eyes to Sigtrygg, who is distracted, chewing a piece of bread.

 

“I was going to say that the baby is too young to drink any decoction anyway.” Ingrid tilts her head at Màiri.

 

“I thought about that ointment you gave me to massage Sigtrygg when he was too agitated to sleep.”

 

“Oh, yes! That could work.” Ingrid walks to one of her chests, fumbling through the many bottles.

 

“Here!” She finds the right one, shifting closer to Asa to hand her the bottle.

 

“Moyra will show you how to use it… the right places to apply pressure and run your fingertips.” Moyra notices Ingrid gazing at the door and gulping. She finds strange that she hasn’t insisted on teaching the technique to Asa and thinks the healer is expecting someone who doesn’t want to be seen.

 

“Thank you,” Asa says as a genuine smile brightens her face.

 

“You’re welcome. Let me know if it works and if you need something else.” Ingrid rises to her feet to dismiss her visitors.

 

“Something for you today, Moyra.” Ingrid exhales, shifting her weight from one leg to the other.

 

“Nothing today.” Moyra hands her a silver coin and a basket with some fruits they brought on their way to her house.

 

“Come, Sigtrygg! Ingrid is waiting for someone.” Ingrid's eyes widen at her remark and Moyra is sure her assumption is right.

 

“I can’t go now. I have to tell Ingrid about Nanna’s babies.” Sigtrygg pouts, wrapping his arms around Ingrid’s legs. Moyra squats before him.

 

“I know you want to talk about the kittens, but Ingrid must work now. What about we come back another day.” Moyra suggests, running her fingers through his hair.

 

“I don’t want to go, _Móðir_.” Sigtrygg sobs and Ingrid tries to convince him this time.

 

“I want to hear all about those kittens when you come back.” Sigtrygg looks up at Ingrid with tears in his eyes, “Now you have to go and help Nanna to take care of them, huh?” Sigtrygg wipes away his tears, bobbing his head.

 

On their way out, Moyra sees Haakon’s slaves approaching. Rhona is limping and wincing in pain, while one of Birger’s eyes is bruised. Moyra tries to approach them, but Màiri holds her back.

 

“We can’t do anything.” Moyra feels her throat tightening at Màiri’s words. She wants to scream that something must be done. Giving them food in secret is not enough. Her vision is blurred by tears as she turns to Ingrid, handing her another coin.

 

“Give it to her and whatever they need to heal.” She sniffs, feeling her hands trembling.

 

  

* * *

 

 

 

“I can't believe you will do nothing. You're the King.” I shout, feeling my body trembling.

 

“You're right… I'm the King and that's why I can't intervene. If my people don’t feel like they can trust me, they won’t follow me. I can’t invade someone’s house and take their slaves. I must offer the people justice.” Ivar runs both his hands through his thick hair. A surge of indignation courses through me at hearing his words.

 

I interrupt him with a snort, “Justice? What kind of justice Rhona and Birger have been served?” Ivar swallows audibly.

 

“She is his slave. I can't take her or the child from him.” Ivar mutters, looking around the chamber as if he fears our discussion is attracting attention. For a moment I think about where is Sigtrygg, but I suppose Màiri took him somewhere else not to witness us arguing.

 

“His slave to torture as he pleases, huh? As you're entitled to do to me if you so decide. You haven't changed… I can't believe I fell for your trick.” I feel tears streaming down my face

 

“It's not a trick. I love you.”

 

“How can you talk about love when you defend that terrible man? How can you talk about love when you see me as property? Something with no will or emotions. Slaves feed their masters with their dignity until there's nothing left but the instinct of survival. Silent and invisible not to attract more violence upon themselves.” I stop, panting and waiting for his reaction.

 

“I didn't know you felt this way still. I know I did terrible things against you and I regret. I think you would be better if I hadn't found you, but I can't help being selfish and wish one day you will want me as much as I want you.” Ivar admits, shifting closer.

 

“I thought you would listen to me. But why would you listen? You never did. You didn’t listen to me when I begged you to stop and not force me, you never listened when I cried or tried to push you away. Why would you start now?” I hold onto a chair, taking deep breaths. His jaw trembles while Ivar stares at me, “The truth is that I’m still at your mercy and if you decide to hurt me again or…” my mouth is suddenly dry as I remember the bruises on Birger’s face, “Sigtrygg…”

 

“NO! I would never…” Ivar bellows, standing before me and trying to cradle my face, “You two are my world. You can’t believe I would do that.”

 

“I don’t believe, but…  but if you do, no one will stand to defend us.” I sob, and Ivar tries to wrap his arms around me.

 

“I tried to talk to Haakon many times… to convince him to be gentler with the child and the woman,” Ivar leans against the wall, eyes downcast, “and she would appear with new bruises the following day.”

 

“I don't want to talk anymore.” I lift my hands to stop him, walking to the bed.

 

“I would do anything for you and I don’t care how pathetic that sounds.”

 

“Anything to have me underneath you once more.” I turn, sneering at him and Ivar looks at me through narrowed eyes, his mouth twitching. I can tell he is in utter disbelief. The silence seems to last forever, only broken by our frantic breathing.

 

“Anything to see you happy. Even if it’s not with or because of me.” His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat as he gulps heavily. His heavy gaze makes my breath hitch in my throat as I try to understand how far he is willing to go for me and what would make me happy at this point.


End file.
